Nobody’s cats

stray cats
they answer to no one
they eat what they get
they sleep where they can.
stray cats
are nobody’s cats.

they come in all colours
tawny, pepper, mottled, grey
their eyes like glass marbles
that pierce through the dark

they turn up whimpering
when there’s fish on the stove
they set up their own song
a caterwaul for bones

they have litters on the terrace
tiny things born with eyes closed
you pick them by their scrawny necks and fling them out
but they always come back

stray cats.
hungry-eyed, ever resourceful
never petted.

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Published by

Cinthya

Crazy. Boring. Unpredictable.

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